


Survivor Guilt

by I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Eskel Whump (The Witcher), Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, The Trials, Whump, after the trials, all the warnings that usually come with the trials, hurt children, mentioned child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee/pseuds/I_bite_my_thumb_at_thee
Summary: He had fought day and night to survive. He was a witcher now, nothing should be able to stop him, least of all a stupid door.Except it wasn’t the door that he feared. It was what lay behind. As long as Eskel stayed in his room where no sound could reach him and his only company was the darkness around him, he could imagine that in all the other rooms the other boys were still alive.Or: Eskel has to deal with the emotional consequences of making it through the trials.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Survivor Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> TW: dead children, hurt children, suicidal thoughts (I’m not sure about the last one, but please stay safe) 
> 
> this was written months ago for whumptober but i kind of forgot to post it on here

Fire raced through his veins. Hot pain flared up with every movement, still Eskel fought through it and moved forward, step by agonising step. Every part of him was aflame. 

He reached the door leading out of his room. Panting, he rested his head against the wood. It was just a door. He just had to walk through. He could make it. 

But that tiny obstacle seemed impossible to overcome. It should be nothing after what he had just gone through. He had fought day and night to survive. He was a witcher now, nothing should be able to stop him, least of all a stupid door. 

Except it wasn’t the door that he feared. It was what lay behind. As long as Eskel stayed in his room where no sound could reach him and his only company was the darkness around him, he could imagine that in all the other rooms the other boys were still alive. Once he set foot outside, he would have to find out whether this was only a fantasy. It had to be. Only three in ten boys made it through they had said; the old mage who had strapped him to the bench so he wouldn’t hurt himself when convulsing with pain. Three out of ten. Maybe the mage had been wrong. Maybe more had survived, maybe all. 

It was a foolish hope, but it was hope nonetheless. And it was that stupid flicker of hope that gave Eskel the strength to push the door open with shaking hands. 

Without warning, the light that fell on him set his eyes on fire. Eskel cried out and almost went to his knees, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the burning light. 

The cry echoed in his ears, threatened to burst them. He had thought being suddenly able to hear his own heartbeat and breathing as loudly as he did was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the force of his scream. 

He should go back. To his room. To safety. Where it was dark and quiet. Where he didn’t know for certain how many of his friends were still alive. 

It felt like an eternity and no time at all had passed until finally, he managed to push himself off the wall again. 

The halls of Kaer Morhen had never been very bright, but now it felt as though every candle, every torch was as bright like a thousand suns. 

It hurt, but it got better. Slowly, with every step he took, he got more and more used to the thunderous sound of his falling feet. With every window he passed, it got easier to fight the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. 

Still, nothing had prepared him for what came with those new sensations. They were disorienting. Eskel knew these halls, had ran through them so many times, it should be impossible for him to get lost here. 

And yet everything looked so different than it had only a week ago. It _felt_ different. 

Kaer Morhen hadn’t changed. Eskel had. And he could never go back to how he was before. 

Eskel wanted to curl in on himself. Once again, the urge to turn back and hide in his room flared up. But the urge to know was stronger. 

When Vesemir had come to Eskel’s room after he had woken up after the trials, he hadn’t told him. No matter how desperately Eskel needed to know if the others were alright, he had remained silent, had only motioned for him to stay in his room until he came back to get him. 

He hadn’t come back. 

And Eskel would be damned if he waited any longer. 

Every door he passed on his way, he pushed open a tiny crack. None of the rooms had a boy in it, happy to see Eskel or even still wreathing in pain. They were just empty, as though no one had ever lived in them. But they had. So many boys had lived here, trained with Eskel, fought and joked with him. They must be still here, somewhere. They probably just got up days before Eskel and would tease him later about how long he had stayed in his room. 

He would gladly take all the teasing, if only he would see his friends again. He just needed to find them. 

A new sensation overcame him. A smell. It was sharp and it stung in his nose, almost bringing tears to his eyes. It was the most disgusting and horrible thing he had ever smelled, but he forced himself to follow the stench, not knowing where else to go. His heart was beating strangely slowly, so unfitting for the panic he felt rising like bile with every step.

He reached a window, overlooking the yard. When he finally saw the origin of the stench, he almost staggered backwards, but his feet were frozen in place. His limps didn’t obey him and his eyes were trained on the fire burning high. 

No. No, this couldn’t be! Vesemir wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t just burn the children who hadn’t made it so unceremoniously, not without telling him. Not without giving him a chance to say goodbye. 

But the shapes beneath the trashing flames were unmistakably bodies. Children that would never return to their empty rooms. 

It was unfair. It shouldn’t be like this. They deserved better. Only a few days ago, they had been training together. How could they all just be gone? How could they have left Eskel alone?

Tears streamed down Eskel’s face. His eyes found someone standing in the yard, next to the fire. Eskel shouldn’t be able to see him so clearly. He wished his eyes wouldn’t be able to see so clearly now, so that he didn’t have to watch Vesemir just stand there with a stoic expression as he watched the boys he had trained burn. The fire painted shadows on his face that made him look so much older than Eskel had ever seen him. For the first time, Eskel wondered how often Vesemir had done this before. How many children had he watched burn, that he now was able to do so with his face betraying no emotion? 

The unexpected light of the fire burned Eskel’s eyes. He should have looked away. But he stayed here, watching, crying until the flames had swallowed the last of his friends. 

Three out of ten would make it, they had said. What a cruel lie it had been. There were no others. Only Eskel and those awful empty rooms he wished he had never opened. 

Somehow it was worse than lying in his bed, not knowing who else was still alive. Only an hour ago, he had only felt his own pain. Now all he could think about was how this pain had been the last thing his friends had felt. It hurt so much worse. 

All those boys just gone. Even the ones he had never liked all that much, even the ones he never really talked to… even his best friends. 

His chest clenched painfully. He had done his best not to think about them, but now it hit him like the pendulum had time and time again, knocking the wind out of his lungs and making him fall to the ground. 

Geralt and Borys. Eskel hadn’t been able to see any faces of the bodies in the flames– thank the gods – but they must have been among them. 

Eskel’s stomach churned painfully. They had joked around before the trials, tense and afraid, but hoping that the jokes would make it less scary. It hadn’t worked. Eskel was alone and he was terrified. 

Selfish as he was, Eskel had hoped that the three of them would be the three to make it through the trials. They had promised each other that they would make it through. 

With a sudden force like a punch in the gut Eskel realised that he wished that he wasn’t the survivor. It was ungrateful and wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He wished he hadn’t had to walk through a hall of empty rooms. He wished he didn’t have to watch the others burn, not knowing how much of the trial’s agony they had felt before their bodies had decided that life wasn’t worth fighting through the pain. 

What made him so special? Why was Eskel the one that had survived, while the others had to die? 

He should go back. He wished he could go back. But even if he could get up and make it to his room, he couldn’t go back to where he was before. He would never again have that stupid hope that he wasn’t the only one left. 

“Eskel?” 

The strangled sound made him look up. His eyes widened when he saw the figure at the end of the hallway, rooted in place, before they came running towards him. 

It was Geralt. 

Eskel didn’t have time to get up, before his best friend crashed into him, hugging him tightly. 

Eskel closed his arms around Geralt, holding him close, so close, not close enough. He barely registered how different it felt. A pleasant prickle ran over his skin where they touched that had never been there before. No one had told him that the trials would also have positive effects. It didn’t matter anyway. The only thing that mattered was that Geralt was here, hugging him. 

“You’re alive,” Eskel said, his voice breaking. 

Geralt pulled back, his eyes roaming over Eskel’s face. was hard not to flinch, when Eskel looked at Geralt’s eyes, no longer dark but a bright yellow, almost animalistic. 

Eskel hadn’t looked into a mirror yet. Even if his room hadn’t been too dark to see his reflection, he wouldn’t have had the courage to look. Still he knew that he must have the same eyes as Geralt now. Maybe one day he would even forget what they had looked like before the trials. Because he and Geralt now had the chance to live long enough to forget about such things. They were alive and they weren’t alone in this. 

They didn’t talk about how different they looked, how different they felt and how their lives would never be the same again. They didn’t say any of that. But they both knew. 

“We are two,” Eskel said, his own voice too loud in his ears, making him wince. “They said there would be three survivors.” He swallowed, forced himself to say it. “Borys. Is he – Do you know what happened to him?”

For an unbearably long moment, Geralt didn’t answer. His silence told Eskel enough. Geralt was rarely ever quiet. He had always had something to say, questions to asks, stories to tell. Now he just looked broken. 

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Eskel whispered. For some reason no tears came. He wished he could cry, but it felt like all of his tears had already been spilt. This was wrong. Borys deserved that someone cried over him. He didn’t deserve this numbness that Eskel felt. 

Gerlat didn’t cry either, but he had a hollow look in those foreign eyes. 

“Are you alright, Geralt?” 

It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t alright. Their friend was dead and they would fight monsters until they too died. Maybe if they saved enough people, the guilt would go away. Maybe. Hopefully. 

A tremble overcame Geralt and without hesitation, Eskel lunged forward and pulled him into an embrace again. He heard Geralt’s shaky breath next to his ear, as he pressed his head into Eskel’s shoulder. 

“I thought you were dead too.” Geralt’s voice was muffled, but the words were clear to Eskel, cutting him sharper than any sword had while training. “I woke up sooner than you. I’ve been outside my room for days now.” A sob wracked his body. “I went to the other’s rooms. I didn’t want to be alone. But they were all ... it was horrible. They were screaming and vomiting and they were in so much pain.” He paused. Eskel wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but before he could open his mouth, Geralt continued, voice barely more than a breath. “And then they stopped screaming. And then I saw Vesemir carry the first one outside. Until it was quiet. Until there was no one there to scream anymore.”

“I was there.” Eskel didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t know if it was an accusation or a comfort. He didn’t want to know, but he was glad that Geralt couldn’t see his face. He didn’t know what he would see there. “I never noticed anyone going into my room except Vesemir that one time.”

Geralt flinched in Eskel’s arms. “I didn’t come to your room. I couldn’t,” he said. “I also didn’t look at Borys’ room.”

“But you saw them carry him out.” 

Geralt nodded into his shoulder and Eskel felt his shirt become wet with tears. Eskel swallowed and lifted his hand to comb through Geralt’s dark curls, not knowing who was comforted more by the gesture.

“I’m glad you didn’t look,” he said. “But I’m here now. We both are.” 

It didn’t make the hollow feeling go away, but it was easier. At least they had each other. At least Geralt didn’t have to watch Eskel’s corpse get carried out of his room. At least Eskel didn’t have to watch Geralt burn, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh stinging in his eyes.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made Eskel wince and he tightened his grip on Geralt who went stiff at the sound, not daring to look up. 

So Eskel did it for him. Vesemir was coming towards them – Eskel could still smell the fire on him – and behind him two of the mages who had performed the trials. Eskel’s jaw clenched. 

“Eskel. You shouldn’t be out of your room yet,” Vesemir said quietly, careful not to hurt Eskel and Geralt’s ears. 

Eskel couldn’t appreciate the thoughtfulness though. Not when Vesemir was looking so grim. 

“I’m better,” he said instead. He couldn’t leave Geralt. He had just found out he was alive! 

Vesemir’s gaze went to Geralt who was still in Eskel’s arms and back to him. His eyes grew soft. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You will need a few more days to adjust.”

This made Geralt lift his head, his expression almost defiantly. “He doesn’t. I was good after a day.”

Something in Vesemir’s expression shifted, broke for just a quick moment, before the mask of the strict teacher slipped back into place. 

“I know,” he said and it sounded almost apologetic. Wasn’t it good that Geralt was feeling better? Why did Vesemir make it sound as though it was the worst thing that could happen to him? 

Instead of Vesemir, one of the mages answered the unspoken questions. 

“That’s why we need you to come with us again.” 

No. No, it couldn’t be. This was unfair. He had just gotten him back. 

Eskel’s ears fell numb. He couldn’t hear a single thing that was being said. The only thing he registered was how someone loosened his arms from around Geralt, how he tried to hold on, how Geralt’s eyes met his, full of fear. He watched him disappear with the mages, off to face more trials. 

Eskel had no control over his feet as they carried him back to his room, Vesemir’s hand on his shoulder – a warning or a comfort, he wasn’t sure.

Numbly, he nodded when Vesemir told him to stay here until he came to get him again. 

Vesemir was almost back out of the door, when Eskel found his voice again, driven by a panic, by the knowledge that this would be the last chance to ask. 

“What are his chances?” Three out of ten. It had been a lie. Only the two of them had made it through. But still, a lie would be better than nothing. Then at least Eskel could find that foolish hope again.

Vesemir haltered, halfway through the door. For a moment it looked as though he was going to say something, but he didn’t even fully turn to look at Eskel before he left and shut the door, leaving Eskel in the darkness again. He didn’t even lie to him. 

It was calm in here. No fire to burn his eyes. No stench of death. No loud sounds to pierce his ears. The walls were thick, build so that those who survived the trials could adjust on their own. Eskel wondered if maybe the walls were so thick so that Vesemir and the mages didn’t have to hear his screams. 

They wouldn’t have anyway. Eskel wasn’t screaming. He was listening, straining his ears to hear _something_. Anything.

The walls were thick. No sound should reach him. And yet he thought he could hear the screams of his best friend even through these walls. He didn’t know if those screams were real or not. It didn’t matter.

Geralt hadn’t looked into Eskel’s room, hadn’t been able to see his best friend in pain. Eskel wished he could be like him. He wished he could tune out the sounds that might not even be real. 

He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands remain still at his side. This might be the last thing he ever heard from Geralt. 

Eskel sat in the dark, alone again and begged that that foolish hope would come true. That come the morning, he wouldn’t have to watch the last friend he had left burn.

**Author's Note:**

> you must have some review for me. Three words or less ;)
> 
> say hi on tumblr @flowercrown-bard


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